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Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Some of you may be familiar with me already, but let me introduce myself just in case. My name is Santa Claus. I've been called many other names over the years, it's true. My least favorite is probably Fat Bastard.

Anyway, I'm writing this letter to you in response to all the letters you will inevitably write to me this holiday season. I really don't have time to read them, and the elves start whining after reading this stuff for a couple weeks. I have to be honest, I'm not paying attention to anything they say once the whining starts. They really do have the most nauseating little bitch voices.

Let me just make a few things obvious in case you haven't figured this stuff out yet on your own.

I'm looking at you, kid. Pay attention.

1. Do not scream or burp or fart on my lap. Do not pee on me, and for the love of all that is holy and right in this world, DO NOT BARF ON ME. Granted, it's not the real me being tortured down there in the mall, but those guys in the red suits are my compadres. They do the heavy lifting while I hang out here at the North Pole sipping hot toddies all day. Oh, don't pull their beards either. Every Santa hates that shit.

2. Smile for the goddamn picture. Seriously. Do you see that line? The longer those kids wait, the more they are going to turn into little brats. The longer their parents wait, the more desperate they will get. You've seen the crazy pathetic mother flapping her arms like a freak behind the camera, sobbing hysterically because her fucking kid won't smile. Don't be an asshole. Just smile for the picture. Make this as easy as possible, and I'll slip you an extra candy cane, mmmkay? I've got 27 more little assholes to deal with behind you.

3. If you want good presents, leave me the good cookies. Stop giving me the broken, burnt cookies. Dammit. There is nothing in this world that honks me off more than a burnt damn cookie. Oh, and gingersnaps??? That shit is disgusting. Keep it off the plate if you know what's good for you.

4. If you want awesome presents, pour some Bailey's or Kahlua in the milk. Ask your parents where this is.

5. There is a list of things I can't bring you. Don't even ask. If your parents haven't told you this, then they deserve what is coming to them.

Live animals. They shit in the sleigh and we all know you aren't going to clean it up, no matter how much you promise.

Anything electronic that requires a data plan. I'll fuck with parents, but not that much.

Weapons of any kind. Unless you want an Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle, that is. I'll totally bring you that shit.

The LEGO Death Star. Just don't fucking ask.

6. Assuming the things you want aren't on the above mentioned list, be specific. Really fucking specific. If you just tell me you want a doll, but what you really wanted was the brown haired doll with blue eyes wearing the green outfit carrying a tiny dog, say it. Tell your parents a few months in advance, too. That shit doesn't just make itself, and I'm not a goddamn mind reader. You guys are picky little turds.

7. Don't be a shithead the week before Christmas. Do you know how many fucking phone calls I get from parents who've had enough??? I don't got time for that shit. I'm busy. I've got deadlines. Knock it off. Shitheads don't get presents.

8. Go ahead change your mind at the last minute, ask for something else. I dare you, you little bastard. It's not going to work. I don't recommend trying to pull a fast one on a dude who's been around the block for a few thousand years.

9. If you say you don't believe in me, you're not getting coal. It's too damn heavy to lug around. What you are getting, though, is socks and underwear. LOTS of socks and underwear. Merry Fucking Christmas!!!

10. Finally, on Christmas Eve....go the fuck to sleep. Your parents are exhausted, the house is a mess, shit ain't wrapped and I can't squeeze my fat ass down the chimney until you're all in dreamland. So get there, and quickly. Once you're there, s.t.a.y.t.h.e.r.e. Got it??? I'm gonna be super pissed if I'm running late because you needed another fucking drink of water then had to pee an hour later.

I love you. My kids somehow got so hyped up on Thanksgiving that they didn't go to sleep until 1 in the morning... I'm already dreading Christmas Eve. Guess I should probably not plan to wrap presents that evening.

Love it..BTW, at Disneyland...the princess "fluffer" as my hubby likes to call them lovely gay boys working the lines at the princess pavillion, was...."Mckay".....like MMMMKay.....can not make this stuff up! I am sure he probably pronounced it normal like the Scottish Mc-Kay....but we like to think it was MMMkay

Dear Santa, We always leave steak potatoes and beer for you because cookies all night long can't be good for you..and Mama always says you'll need a beer after that road trip ;o)Thanks for the 411Ps..I've been a very good girl..can I puhleeeease have a bulldog puppy?Little girl Bleu